Kinmoor Vignettes
by Phoenix4131
Summary: CHAPTER THREE: "He's a good father. She never doubted he would be, but she never tires of marveling at it, either." Post-season 6 collection of one-shots featuring the Bates family.
1. Morning

**Post-season 6, mild-ish spoilers? More speculation than anything else. I've had this scene in my mind for a while now and decided to write it down and share it before the CS gives us the real Baby Bates. This is what my imagination has had to survive on until then ;) I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

John Bates walked gingerly with the sound of his uneven footfall on the gravel filling the otherwise serene morning air. He liked this time of day best, when the air was dewy and cool and the sun was just casting its light on the world. Mornings like this always drew with it a thousand memories of walks with Anna from their cottage to the big house. He didn't regret their choice to move on, but he missed those moments. They still carved out time for each other, finding minutes in the day to break from their work and share each other's company, but a walk into town always had him wishing Anna could be right along with him.

He was headed now to the post office, cane in his right hand, letters in his breast pocket, and a precious little bundle in his left arm, snoozing as if she were in the comfort of her own bed. It was easiest do his errands in the morning when the demands of the day weren't in full-swing. It was quieter, calmer in the mornings. Maybe that was also why he liked them best.

The warm weight in his arm shifted slightly, exhaled sharply against his neck, and the little arms twined around his neck constricted further, and then settled back into a sleepy lump once more. He tried to steal a glance at the little one, but her head rested high on his shoulder and the silky, dark locks of hair fell across her face and obscured his view. Not that it mattered; he knew she was asleep. His little daughter had woken early – a very rare occurrence for her – and insisted on going with him, but hadn't lasted long into the quick venture before she gave in to sleep once again. John had predicted this, but couldn't find it in his heart to deny her the opportunity to string along with him. Only a few paces from the hotel and he was having to stoop down and carry the suddenly sluggish little one.

"She rules you with an iron fist." Anna had called after him as he let their girl slip out the door with him before Anna had even had the chance to give the girl a proper breakfast.

John now lifted the tiny fist from where it was curled against his shirt collar and kissed it before settling it back in place. Never would it be said he was the head of the house, now that they had this little one. And he'd have it no other way.

By now, he'd reached the post office and paused at the door, taking the cane in his left hand while he opened the door with his right, then quickly shifted his cane back to the proper hand as he entered the building. It was a move done with practiced ease, hardly disrupted by the added weight of his daughter in one arm.

The postman greeted him with a polite smile.

"Shall I hold your little girl?" A woman asked, who'd come in behind John. It was meant to be a kind offer, a generous one, but one that Bates encountered all too often. Someone saw an aging man with a cane in one hand and a child in the other and felt fearful for the child. He'd seen it in strangers' eyes before and he could see it in the woman now.

"No thank you." He kept his tone light, but an edge of disgust still filtered through. If Anna was here, she would be silently fuming, steadfast in her belief that Maggie was never safer than when she was with John. He posted his letters quickly and left, aware now that little Maggie was alert once more. Her chubby hand patted at his shoulder as if to soothe the sting of the earlier encounter. She trusted him implicitly and that was all the assurance he needed. The walk back to Kinmoor was livelier, brighter, as the town bustled to life. Even the little one on his shoulder popped her head up to see the commotion, but she was quiet as she took it in with keen eyes.

"Maggie, darling." Maggie's eyes, so similar to his own, met his gaze with piqued interest. "Should we stop inside and get something for Mummy?" His head gestured to the bakery and his payoff was Maggie's instant smile.

"For Mummy!" She parrotted back in agreement. "And me." Her dimpled hand patted her chest.

"Yes, I suppose so." He chuckled and then pressed a kiss to her round cheek. "Since you wouldn't let Mummy feed you."

They popped inside for a few pastries, an indulgent treat they couldn't enjoy too often, but that John liked to surprise Anna with on occasion when finances allotted it. Maggie's presence on this errand might have swayed him towards it this time around for he couldn't seem to deny the child any small joys he could offer her.

Fully awake now and holding a sweet treat in her little hands, Maggie was content to be carried, though she had more than enough energy for the walk home, John knew. She had the paper bag with Anna's surprise tucked in with her, keeping it safe. "Here, Daddy." She tore off a piece of her own pastry and held it up to his mouth.

A simple little act of sharing in her treasure, but it softened John's heart further for his girl. Maggie Bates was playful and stubborn, but above all, kind. Her mother's heart was the best thing he could've hoped for her to inherit and traces of Anna's goodness in Maggie were always making themselves known.

"Thank you, Darling."

Kinmoor Hotel was now in sight and it lifted John's spirit every time he looked upon it. Kinmoor was a modest hotel, but cozy and well-kept. Business was suffering with the rest of the economy, but they were still afloat. This might be in part due to the desirable location near the station, but John liked to think his and Anna's run of the place also spoke to its survival. A car pulled up and one of the porters hurried out to help with the luggage. The young man caught sight of Bates and straightened a little bit, keenly aware his boss was watching.

"Well, go on, Samuel. If you don't leave now, you'll be late."

At the sound of his wife's voice, John's gaze swept the area for the sight of her. By the front entrance, Anna stepped out and shooed a boy of six.

"Be good, Sammy." John called after his son as the boy started in the direction of his school and the group of children already walking that way. Samuel spun and waved to his father before returning in his trek.

Anna turned and smiled warmly at the sight of John and Maggie making their way to her.

"There's my little love." Maggie careened sharply toward her mother at the sound of her gentle beckoning. Anna caught her and the paper bag that was almost flung perilously to the ground in Maggie's haste. "What's this?" Anna held the paper bag and looked to Maggie, receiving an impish smile in return. "For you, Mummy." Maggie insisted. "A surprise." Anna caught John's pleased gaze and the half-eaten pastry in her daughter's hand, the crumbs on Maggie's sweet face.

"Well, I think I can guess what it is, but thank you for it, Maggie."

They stayed by the door watching Samuel until he turned the corner with a few other boys towards the school.

Maggie squirmed in her mother's arms. "No, no." Anna chided gently, but her arms held tight to the determined little one. "No running off to school for you just yet." Anna was already swaying with Maggie, fingers tickling the girl's neck so that the stubborn scowl disappeared from Maggie's face. "Soon enough, little one, don't you worry."

Her tone was light and airy, but the truth of her words hung between them. Soon enough, their little Maggie would be chasing after Sammy on their way to school and if they blinked, they'd miss these fleeting years between then and now.

Anna shifted Maggie's weight to one hip and turned to John, probably intending to move inside with him, but she seemed to catch something in his look. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhaled with the slightest smile. "Just taking it all in."

Their hotel with their children all around them. These were the years they yearned for. It filled him up with a mingling wonder and gratitude to be living this life after so long of thinking it could only ever be a marvelous dream to wake from.

John pressed a kiss to Anna's forehead and then to their girl's. "Wouldn't want to forget a moment of this."

* * *

 **Thoughts? Thinking about maybe writing a few more one-shots with Samuel and Maggie if there's any interest.**


	2. She Wakes

**Thank you so much to everyone who showed interest in this and asked for more. Samuel and Maggie aren't actually the central focus of this chapter, Anna is, but they're in here so I've included it with the previous chapter instead of posting it separately.**

 ***Spoilers for season 6**

 ****Mild references to season 4 plot. If you don't want to read that, skip the section starting with "It's 1922".**

* * *

It's 1891 and a nightmare wakes her, only to abandon her to the darkness of the room with little hope of returning to sleep soon. Her little sister's feet are tucked against Anna's legs, her head burrowing into Anna's back, but her sister's presence does little to soothe the older girl. Not wanting to wake her little sister, she stays still and quiet, the rest of her body betraying the way her heart is thrashing about in her chest. But the terror never subsides and before long, a cry has broken from her lips. She tries to muffle it for little Bethie's sake and she seems to be rewarded for her efforts as her sister slumbers on, but suddenly light spills into the room through the doorway. Anna's cry hiccups, stutters, and falls silent.

"Who's up?" Her father calls out softly. She can see his sharp features lit up by the candle's light. Anna turns her face into her pillow, tries to keep her breathing even, but it's still hitching with every inhale from her time of crying.

It's a vain attempt to feign sleep with Bethie snoring so convincingly next to her. "I heard someone crying now tell Dad what's the matter."

Her eyes are pinched shut, but she hears her dad shuffle carefully into the room and set the candlestick on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Anna-girl." His rough-skinned hand wipes gently at the tear tracks on her face and it breaks her resolve to keep pretending. Her eyes open, squinting against the candlelight, but she can still see her father, his face as open and kind as it is in the daylight. She's not in trouble.

Words won't come and as she stares at his expectant face, only another cry escapes her.

"Oh, come 'ere." He orders, a hint of laughter in his tone that injures her feelings for a moment. She doesn't feel this is a laughing matter, but she crawls into his lap, anyway, his big arms enveloping her, and for the first time since she woke up tonight, all is well. "What's the matter, Anna-girl?" Her head is pillowed against his chest and his chin rests sharply on top of her head, but she doesn't mind. "Hm?" He prods. "I thought it would be wee Bethie crying, not my great big girl."

She hunkers down in his embrace, too embarrassed to admit why she's crying.

"Alright." He says finally, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. "Don't you worry anymore. Dad won't let anything happen to you."

For such a little girl, she manages a mighty sigh of relief and drifts back to sleep in her father's arms.

* * *

It's 1912 and she wakes to the sound of Daisy's knuckles rapping on their door. Then to Gwen's gentle nudging when Daisy's efforts fail to fully rouse her. Some mornings take more out of her just to rise and greet the day. Gwen never gives her grief for it. The hours in service are long and she can't remember the last time she had the luxury of sleeping until her body decided on its own when to wake up.

But she's not dissatisfied with the work here. The Crawleys have always treated the staff well and she's felt so grateful for the opportunity to be here instead of somewhere else.

Instead of back home.

Downton Abbey is a better place than her first employer, the one she found on a whim and ran to just to get away. She even got Beth a job there once she was old enough. Anna hated having to leave Beth at Stone Court, but Downton was a greater house and at least she could trust that Stone Court was better for Bethie than home.

A portion of her pay always went back to Beth at Stone Court because she knew the wages there, knew how much more she was making at Downton - even if it wasn't much. Anna felt better if she could still look out for Beth in some small way. She doesn't regret leaving home without a glance back for her mum and stepfather, but Beth had always been good to her and as the older one, Anna always felt some responsibility in helping Beth find her way.

Yesterday, Beth wrote to say Anna could stop sending the money. Beth had caught the eye of a local farmer near Stone Court and they were to be married soon.

" _He's a good man, Anna_." Her letter had read. " _Not at all like Richard. Like Dad, I think, at least from what I can remember and from what you've told me about him._ "

"Anna."

She startles in bed, not realizing her thoughts have her so thoroughly preoccupied that she still hasn't gotten up yet.

"Sorry." She apologizes to Gwen, shaking her head at herself as she goes. She likes Gwen a great deal and on the days she misses Beth, there's Gwen to fill the space. "I don't know what's wrong with me this morning."

Anna hurries through her morning routine and manages to still make it downstairs in time, though she doesn't finish all of her breakfast before Lady Mary rings for her.

Just another day at Downton.

Still, all day she can't help feeling a little pang of grief over Bethie's news, like she's losing her last tie to family. First, her father, who had been dearer to her than anyone else at age six, and then her mother, whose betrayal cut deeper than her despicable step-father's intentions ever had, and now Beth.

Her sister might keep up a correspondence with her, but Anna's hope of bringing Bethie to Downton as soon as a spot opened up is now dashed.

Bethie will stay and marry and live a whole life in Chesterfield.

And she will stay in Downton.

* * *

It's April of 1919 and for the first time in her life, she doesn't mind the early wake-up, even though it comes earlier than she's used to. Mr. Bates - no, _John_ , her husband - wakes her with a kiss to her brow. "Anna." He murmurs gently and it sends shivers down her spine and she's suddenly so alive and acutely aware of his warm proximity. "Wake up, my love." Her eyes flutter open and find his gaze. He's never called her that before. _My love_. But then again, so much is new to them now as husband and wife, so why not this, too?

"How did you manage to wake so early?" She asks, her voice still thick with sleep. The very last thought in her mind before sleep claimed her had been of worry that she wouldn't be able to do it, waking up earlier enough to keep their night, their marriage, a secret. They'll have to sneak back, slip into their own bedrooms and pretend this didn't happen. At least for a few more days and then…

Her fingers rake through his hair and his eyes slide shut in response and his responding hum is a delicious sound.

… And then there can be more of moments like this. So much more.

"I never sleep well in a new setting." He admits, his own voice rather gravely and it does strange things to her heart. "Any odd sounds and I'm up. Light sleeper."

 _Oh yes_ , she thinks, _this could work quite well_.

"We should really be up." He urges, but she can't seem to find the strength to leave this bed, knowing it will be some time before they can come back together like this again.

"Another minute more." She entices, her arm snaking around his side to pull herself closer. She's met with no resistance.

* * *

It's 1920 and she sleeps and sleeps until her body wakes naturally with a disorienting headache. At Mrs. Hughes' insisting, they've given her a day off to recuperate and it's generous - so generous and done with such kindness - but one day of reprieve will not fix the matter. Her husband is serving time for a crime he didn't commit. He won't hang, but he's locked up, far away from her. And she wants to be optimistic, she wants to keep fighting for him, but it's been so long and nothing has come of her searching for evidence to free him. And worse, he's gone quiet. He won't' see her and he won't write and she's afraid maybe he's given up hope altogether, cutting her loose so she can live a life without him.

So she wakes against her will, not at all inspired to move from her bed yet. Why should she? Everything she's dared to hope for has been taken from her. Waking up without him is just one more way she is reminded of that.

She wallows ‒ she _never_ wallows ‒ but she does for some time this morning, building up the courage to put on her armor and go to battle once more.

When she wished oh, so many times that she could sleep until she woke naturally, these were not the circumstances she had in mind.

 _Be careful what you wish for_ , she thinks, her heart already guarding itself from further dreams that might come crashing down around her.

* * *

It's only a few months later into 1920, but what a difference the time makes. She wakes to his fingers brushing her hair from her face, his lips on her brow once more, and she could weep for all the tenderness in that moment. Too long. It's been much too long since the first time she woke like this. "Pity that they give us afternoons off, rather than the mornings." He murmurs. "I'd much rather stay right here."

"The problem with that, Mr. Bates," Her gaze finds his. "Is that the cottage would never get painted."

His lips paint a line down her jaw. "But if we're the only one who ever see the inside of it ‒"

"We _are_ painting this cottage, John Bates. Mr. Carson already gave us the same afternoon off to get it done."

His responding harrumph draws a smile out of her. Her arms twine around his neck and he kisses her shoulder, nuzzles into her neck. Oh, she's missed him.

They've been married for almost a year and a half and they're just now getting to live their life together properly. Their nights and their mornings and their plans for the cottage, all of it has been more than Anna ever dared hope for.

"But just this once," She murmurs, brimming with joy and love for this man. "I think we can be late for breakfast."

* * *

It's 1922. She jolts awake in the middle of the night, heart racing, a scream clawing its way up her throat, but she chokes it back. She can't sleep without the memory of a few nights ago coming back to her in some way. Each night, a little different, but always terrifying. Her body is drenched in sweat. Her husband slumbers on next to her, oblivious of her agony.

She aches for his comfort, his steadfast love through anything thus far, but this would be the thing to break him, she's sure. But, oh, her will is breaking in the stillness of this night. She can't let him touch her, can't even let him have the intimate knowledge of her thoughts anymore. It's the only way. Because he knows her so well, loves her so well, and it would be unfair to let him continue loving her without letting him know the truth that's she's damaged goods now. It can never be the same between them. And he can never know the truth, of that she's certain. She won't let him do something to jeopardize his own life. She's already decided the next step is to move back into the house.

But.

She needs him. So much. And he's there, he's right there next to her, sound asleep, solid and warm and always so good to her.

She rolls over, into his half of the bed, and gently, so carefully, fits herself against his side, pillowing her head on his chest. His arm moves to encircle her ‒ out of instinct, in his sleep, she tells herself.

He pretends to sleep through the whole thing and she pretends to forget that the slightest movement wakes him. By the time he's given up the ruse and pressed a kiss to her hair, she's already asleep again.

* * *

It's 1925. Everything hurts. Her back, her feet, her whole being. And the baby she's carrying wakes her once more. She doesn't sleep much. Not in the last month or so since the baby kicks and kicks every time she tries to lie down. The little one is kicking her ribs incessantly and she wonders if it's possible for it to bruise her from the inside. Her hand smooths over her rounded belly, palm pressing firmly over one spot and holding it there, the only kind of a stern warning she can offer. The baby doesn't stop.

No one told her it would be like this. The first flutter of movement? Her heart sung with the wonder of it all, the promise of life despite all the loss before it. She's trying to hold onto that sentiment, but more than anything, she wants it to be January already, to have a baby in her arms rather than tucked up under her ribs with merciless bouts of activity.

"Anything I can do, love?" John walks into the bedroom, about to get ready for bed himself after she retired for the evening earlier than their usual hour. He must have seen the something in her face just now. He always could read her like a book…

"No, not unless you can make this baby lie still long enough for me to get some proper sleep."

A strange look crosses his face, like he's sizing up a challenge and ‒ oh, no, he really means to try. He stretches out onto the bed, his head leaning close to her belly and one large hand weighing on it, warm and heavy. She grabs his hand and directs it to one spot where something pushes out against her taut skin.

"Head?"

"Bum, I'm pretty sure."

Anna winces at the next hard kick.

"What's wrong?"

"The baby won't stop kicking and he's _strong_."

Despite her obvious discomfort, she sees a quick smile on her husband's face.

"'He', huh?"

"Or she, I guess." Her gaze drops to her stomach and she runs a hand over it. "She could be pretty strong."

"Oh, she will be. Just like her mum." His thumb strokes circles on her belly. "Strongest woman I've ever known."

"Do you care, one way or another?" She suddenly worries. They haven't talked much about the sex. Haven't allowed themselves to hope too much about a baby at all considering the risk involved.

"Boy or girl, you mean?"

She nods.

"No." He says swiftly, his dark eyes dropping affectionately to her pregnant belly. "I suppose most men want a son and I would be happy with a son of my own, but I'd be just as happy with a daughter." There's something bittersweet in his gaze when it connects with hers again. "After all it took to get here, I can hardly believe we're almost parents. Boy or girl, I'm going to love this little one so much."

She smiles through the sudden sting of tears in her eyes, her throat clogged with emotion so that no more words are said on the matter. And what else could be said? She feels the same way.

When the baby suddenly shifts, Anna realizes he or she had gone still just prior.

"Keep talking." She whispers.

"What?"

"When you were talking, the baby calmed down."

"Anna, I don't think -"

"Just do it!"

His brows shoot up at her fierce insistence, but a smile cracks through, too.

"Humor me, please." Her voice softens. She may be at her wits end with this pregnancy, but she doesn't want to punish _him_ for it.

"Alright. Um, did you hear about Andy's mishap in the kitchen today?"

She shakes her head and her obliging husband slips into a story for her.

No one told her it would be like this, either. Both of them have a hand on her belly, cradling the child they've so longed for while John's deep timbre soothes Anna and ‒ she would swear by it ‒ the baby, too.

* * *

It's 1926 and the baby wakes them at dawn. She takes a moment to orient, rolling over onto her side to see John is already awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The sound from the baby's bassinet is unmistakable, but at such an hour, it seems unlikely.

"Is he -"

"... Laughing?"

Anna sits up, peering over at the bassinet from their bed. Sure enough, little arms and legs flap wildly with excitement as Samuel's joyous exclamations fill the room, directed at no one in particular. He's simply awake and found no reason to fuss about it.

Her heart aches with all the love for him, her happy son. She rises and goes to fetch him and when she's in his sight, he smiles with his whole body, kicking and flapping with greater joy for her. A shrill, happy squeak escapes the baby and it has Anna gathering the boy close to return his morning greeting with a kiss.

She brings him back to their bed. He's woken them in the sweetest way possible, but it's still early and she wants to have this time with her little family before the day begins.

"Darling boy." She catches John's quiet murmur as he reaches out for Samuel. "Have you ever met a happier little boy?"

Samuel is settled between the two of them. He gurgles and coos in delight and engages his father in an exchange of ridiculous facial expressions that would seem so unlike Mr. Bates to anyone else. But Anna and now Samuel, they get different sides of John reserved just for them.

A year ago she never would've thought this moment possible. Samuel, their greatest happiness in this life. To have him be so happy was an increase of their joy that they didn't expect.

* * *

It's 1931 and she wakes to the stillness of night. She tenses up, that unexplainable feeling as if something woke her, but can't sense anything amiss. She hears nothing, only John's even breathing beside her ‒ oh, and there it is. A soft whimper from the nursery. For a long time, she could sleep so solidly, but the children have changed that for her. The slightest noise from them and she's up.

She creeps down the hall and flicks on a light in the nursery. It isn't Maggie, surprisingly. The little girl's blankets are twisted at her feet and she's sound asleep on her stomach, one tiny fist smashed against her cheek.

Across from the toddler, Samuel tugs the covers over his head, as if that will go unnoticed by his mother. She hears him sniffle loudly.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

She sits on the edge of his bed, watching the lump of her son refuse to peek out from the blankets.

"Nothing." Comes his timid reply.

Her fingers catch at the covers and she draws them down until the honey-blond boy of five appears. "What's this?" She asks gently, her thumb swiping at the tears on her son's face. "Something's upset you, Sammy. You can tell me."

He's on the verge of more tears and his bottom lip starts to quiver. The quivering lip he gets from her, poor boy, but it's only endeared him further to his father, who can't seem to dole out a punishment whenever Samuel looks so utterly devastated. "I had a bad d-dream." He manages.

Sweet Sam.

He doesn't need permission or even coaxing to crawl into his mother's lap, he does it of his own volition before all the words are even out of his mouth, seeking out Anna's comfort. She gives it willingly, gathering him up and tucking his head under her chin.

"Not to worry. It was only a dream." Her lips press a kiss to the crown of his head. "I'm right here, Sammy. You're alright."

"Mummy?"

"Hmm?"

He tips his head back and his dark eyes find her gaze. He takes so heavily after his father, except for his light hair. Well, his light hair and his lip quiver. Those he gets from her, but the rest is all John.

He recounts his nightmare to her in just a few phrases, but by the end, she's decided that it's a scary enough dream for just about anyone to have, never mind a little boy, and that perhaps John should stop reading such thrilling novels to Samuel before he goes to bed.

Anna soothes him with soft words and gentle touches. A brief silence settles and when she readjusts her posture to alleviate the sudden ache in her back, Samuel panics, clawing at her nightgown. "Don't go!"

"I'm not going anywhere." Her heart lurches at the terror in his voice, but before she can say more, she catches sight of Maggie's movement across from them.

Her daughter lifts her head, bleary-eyed, and stares at Anna and Samuel for a moment before dropping her head back down and scrubbing her tired face with the back of her hand. The girl rolls around for a bit and then heaves a sigh, drifting right back to sleep.

Samuel watches her, momentarily transfixed by the sudden movement, and it seems to have broken whatever spell his nightmare had cast over him. It's only the three of them in this room and everything is as it should be.

Anna's fingers course through the boy's hair, putting the unruly strands back in order. That, and she knows the little act has always calmed him. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"Promise?" His little whisper tugs at her heart. He's such a sturdy boy, so lively and spirited and strong. She forgets sometimes how small he really is, especially since Maggie came along and forever cast him into the role of the older brother. But he's still only five, still needs his mum at a time like this.

"I promise." Her lips brush his forehead and he sinks into her with relief, the tension draining out of him.

A memory strikes her then, from so many years ago, when she was the small one in need of care in the middle of the night and her father ‒ oh, she can hardly remember him now, but she does remember this ‒ her father was the one to comfort her. She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat.

She hasn't thought about him in a while. She was so small when he died, not much bigger than Samuel is now.

"Sammy," She begins, knowing that a good story might be just the diversion his thoughts need so they won't dwell on the dream. "Did I ever tell you about my dad?"

He shakes his head, his curiosity piqued, and so she begins to describe him, mindful of Samuel's droopy eyes. She catches his head when it lolls to one side so he doesn't wake himself up and she waits a moment more to be certain he's truly out.

As carefully as she can. She eases her heavy boy back into bed and under the covers. She feels a sudden tug of affection for him, his face slack with sleep and his hair still unruly despite all her efforts.

Sweet, sweet Samuel.

Her father felt that same kind of love for her.

It's a humbling thought, a powerful one, and she finds herself absurdly wishing she had had more time with him, had known him better. But he must have loved her and Beth like she loves Samuel and Maggie because she can't see how a parent could feel any other way than the tidal wave of love that swept her up when she first laid eyes on her son.

A mother's love may be held in higher regard that a father's to most people, but she's witnessed firsthand how John loves their children, how Lord Grantham loves his girls and his grandchildren, and her father was willing to comfort her after a nightmare just as she did for Sammy.

He loved her. She'll have to remember that when she can barely recall any solid memories of him. At least she knows he was a kind father, like her children are blessed to have.

She kisses both of her babies before she turns off the light and heads back to her own bed. Despite her best efforts to be silent, she wakes John as she slips back under the covers.

"What's wrong?" His voice is rough with sleep.

"Nothing, love." She pats his arm to placate him before he fully wakes. "Go back to sleep." He captures her hand in his own and pulls it to his lips to kiss it, sloppy and uncoordinated in his state of half-awake, but it's sweet nonetheless.

Silly man.

She'll wake tomorrow to his beloved face, to Samuel and Maggie's exuberant shouts, to a life she wouldn't change for all the money in the world.

But for now, she sleeps.

* * *

 **Thoughts?**


	3. His Father's Footsteps

**This chapter is a little more light-hearted than the previous one and _a lot_ more of Samuel :)**

* * *

"Samuel!"

Her husband's voice bellows from the next room, dark and threatening and directed at their son, but after three years of this journey as parents, Anna knows his bark is much worse than his bite. Samuel's feet scamper quickly across the wood floor and the next second, he's bursting into the kitchen where Anna is making their tea. He has John's cane in one hand and a devilish smile on his face.

"Sammy!" Anna catches him by the shoulder, unable to bend down and grab him in her current state, but she manages to stop him nonetheless. "Give that back to your father."

"I just want to play wiff it." Sammy's fists tightening around the cane. He taps the ground in an ineffectual manner with it as he stomps in place. He hasn't yet grasped the concept of it since the cane is as tall as he is and since he doesn't need one anyway. Still, his fascination with John's cane has only grown over time and lately, anytime John sets it down for a moment, Samuel is right on his heels to snatch it away.

"Samuel." She captures his chin in one hand, makes those rebellious, dark eyes meet her gaze. Her voice is quiet, but unwavering, and it has the boy almost bending to her will. "That's not a toy. Bring it back to your father."

She can hear John making his way into the kitchen, a slow pace that he can manage without the aid of his cane, but Samuel's advantage each time he snatches the cane is his ability to outrun John, small as he is.

Samuel's gaze drops, his voice becoming a feeble whine. "But Daddy put it -"

"That's enough. I've told you twice now to give it back."

The rest of the warning doesn't need to be voiced; Samuel knows what will come if he doesn't obey. He meets his father in the doorway, tears in his eyes, and silently hands it over. The little boy squeezes past John and disappears with a flair of melodrama into the other room.

John meets Anna's gaze. "I don't see why he finds the stupid thing so amusing." He mutters, making his way to her.

Her expression softens at his cluelessness. "He looks up to his father. A great deal." John eases into the room and joins her at the kitchen counter, leaning his weight against it just as she is. "Obviously, he can't keep taking the cane from you -"

John scoffs. "It's not -"

"... but I know why he does it." Her elbow bumps his arm lightly. "He loves you. That's all."

"Fine, but the cane? The injury is not exactly my best quality."

Anna shrugs, can't quite explain why that is where Samuel's fascination has fixated. Maybe it's just that the limp is so noticeable and the cane is a part of that. Something Samuel can take in order to become more like him.

His hand slips around to rest on her rounded belly and she traps his hand there with her own. "With any luck, this next one won't care a bit about it." She teases, drawing a wry smile from him.

"I don't care that he takes it." He admits. "It's annoying at times, that's all. Worse, I've somehow turned it into a game for him."

"Well, we can't have that."

John shakes his head. "I keep waiting for him to grow out of it."

She buries her smile in his shoulder. Someday, he will laugh about this with her.

* * *

An odd _clacking_ sound diverts Anna's attention from the inventory she's supposed to be recording for the inn. They're running terribly low on some items and she desperately needs to get this done, but where odd sounds originate from, her son is usually found to be the source. And once she has that thought, she can't continue without checking in. When she left Samuel a little while ago, he was napping right on schedule, but he developed a terrible habit recently of waking up and silently slipping off on his own.

As she follows the sound, her gaze finds the clock in the hall and, heavens, it's already been an hour since she put Sammy down. He could very well be up already.

Oh, and he is.

Anna rounds the corner into the hotel laundry room and there is her son with a stick he must have grabbed from outside and now he's puttering about the room. It takes her a moment to see what he's doing, but when it clicks, her heart melts.

He's pretending it's a cane. Her burly little boy taps the floor with it as he goes - still hasn't quite figured out that it's purpose is to support the weight of a person.

After a minute of her presence going unnoticed, she speaks up. "There you are, my darling!" When he startles, she has to suppress her laugh, smiling only with the love she has for him. "Did you have a good nap?"

Samuel beams at her. "See?" He holds up his prize for her to admire. "I have one, too."

This boy. He keeps them on their toes plenty with his mischief, but he really is a good little soul, loves them with such ferocity that Anna can't quite figure out what they've ever done to be given such a sweet child. "I see, Sammy." Now that he's up, they'll have to corral him, keep him out of trouble, and with her ever-widening stomach and quickly-draining energy, it's harder than ever do just that. "Why don't we go show your father? Then maybe he can keep an eye on you for a bit."

Samuel sprints past her at the thought, intent on finding John quickly to show him his own cane and Anna is left to walk briskly after him, one hand on her belly with a fervent prayer that this next one is just as sweet, but not as boisterous.

* * *

It doesn't come as a shock that Samuel holds onto the stick for nearly a week, pretending it's a cane of his own. What does come as a shock is when Anna finds him with a smoother, still pint-sized cane in Sammy's hand before the end of a week.

"Samuel, what is that?"

"Mine." The little boy's brows furrow together.

"Darling, let me see it just for a moment." She's not as quick to suppress the chuckle this time at his seriousness over the stick; it slips through with her words, but Samuel doesn't seem to notice.

He hands it over, begrudgingly, and as Anna studies it, she realizes it's the same stick, but someone has carved out all the knobby twigs and bumps so that it's straighter and smooth and now it really does look like a cane.

It's not even a question of who could've done that for Samuel.

She hands it back and Samuel squirrels away with it lest she take it again. One of the maids, Rebecca, sees him run down the hallway she was headed for. "I'll keep an eye on 'im. He can help me with the beds."

"Thank you." Anna breathes a sigh of relief. Of the small staff they have at Kinmoor, Rebecca has been with them since the start and it's no secret that Samuel is her favorite Bates; Rebecca has known him since before he could walk and she possesses a special knack for diverting the boy's attention long enough to keep him out of trouble. "If he gets to be too much -"

"I know where to find you." Rebecca cuts in, not unkindly, to assure her employer that she doesn't mind.

With Samuel off her hands and safely in Rebecca's care, Anna goes in search of her husband. She finds him in the lobby behind the front desk, going through some paperwork while keeping an eye on things up front.

She pictures John stealing away with the stick, bent over it with a knife to whittle it down into a sensible cane for their son, pictures Samuel's joy when John presents it to him and the sweet moment that must have created for her husband.

He's a good father. She never doubted he would be, but she never tires of marveling at it, either. The happiness he derives from having Samuel is unmatched by anything she's ever seen in her husband.

"You carved out a cane for him." She announces her presence and John startles at her words, blushes slightly.

"I didn't want him to slice his fingers on that stick." is his sound reasoning and she can't argue with that. Samuel has been attached to the "cane" and with all his energy, he's not at all careful or coordinated.

But the unspoken reason remains; John pours everything he has into making Samuel's life as bright as can be and they both know it.

And he wonders why the boy is so in awe of him...

With a shake of her head, she sidles up next to him at his seat, her arm going around his shoulders. He tugs her in closer.

"Where is Samuel?"

"Rebecca took him along to clean the rooms."

"Hmm. So we have a moment of peace. Are you feeling alright? Do you want to sit down?"

She lets him fuss over her, badger her into a chair so she's not on her feet. She's feeling the fatigue even more this second time around, her body even older and protesting what she puts it through at her age. But worth every ache and pain to have their joy immeasurably increased again, that's for sure.

* * *

John keeps Samuel with him for the rest of the afternoon and the dear boy is overjoyed to be his father's shadow as they go about attending to business. By the time they sit down for dinner, Anna has trouble getting Sammy sit still long enough to eat.

"John, did he hurt himself? He's walking funny." She watches Samuel hobble after her husband when John gets up to grab another glass of water. But when John stops to turn and look at Samuel, the boy stops, too.

"No. Not that I noticed. Hey, Sammy." He goes down on one knee carefully and beckons the boy to him, watching intently as Samuel closes the gap between them. "Does your leg hurt?" He bears all of Sam's weight on one arm so his free hand can hold the boy's leg out and check for any telltale bruises or bumps.

"No, Daddy, not hurt." The boy promises and his unmarked legs prove his word.

"Then why are you walking funny?"

Now Samuel is the one concerned, his little face pulling into a troubled expression. "I'm walking like you."

Anna's vision becomes suspiciously cloudy, but she can still make out John working his jaw, struggling to find a response to that.

"Son, you know I only walk with a limp because of an old injury, right?"

Samuel nods solemnly.

Something in the boy's face has John smiling faintly before brushing a quick kiss to Samuel's hairline. "Alright then. Enough talk of that. Let's finish our dinner."

By the time her men join her back at the table, the sting of tears has been blinked away, but the soft ache of affection in her heart for these two remains.

* * *

"Hold still, Samuel."

John's order brings a smile to Anna's lips. It's like asking the sun not to rise each morning. The boy was born to move, to fidget, to frustrate them with his endless capacity to just keep going. Hold still? Samuel hardly knew what that meant.

And she can smile about it safely from the other room because father and son cannot see her there.

It's a marvel to her how she kept on working as a Lady's maid up to the very day Samuel was born, but this second time around, she's finding so many things strenuous. Like dressing Samuel in the mornings.

She thought maybe it was her size compared to his, the bending and reaching and crouching to get such a small person ready for the day while she continued to grow outward to create space for one more small person. By the end of what should be a simple task, her back would ache and her patience for the little man would run dangerously thin.

But as she hears John struggle with their son - just as he has every day this week since she asked him to do it - she thinks now it's not any of that. It's the boy himself.

He doesn't know how to sit still.

Anna slips down the hall as softly as she can and peers into the nursery. There she finds John sitting as Samuel standing in front of him, Sammy's small hips pinned between John's knees so the boy can't wiggle away. He's fastening the buttons on Samuel's shirt as quick as he can.

"Almost done." She can hear the exasperation in his voice, the desire to be done, and she knows that was her with this boy last week.

But even in his haste, she can see his great care for the task. John Bates, former valet, can't allow for his son to look anything less than presentable. She is guilty of that, too. They may not have all the riches in the world to throw away on fashion, but it's a matter of pride for them that Samuel looks well-groomed even if he doesn't have the best clothes.

So maybe it's not even the boy. Maybe it's them. Their mornings might go smoother if they let the boy look a little unkempt every now and then. But a lifetime of upholding the reputation of a great family in every way from their conduct to their appearance has bled into their own lives with Samuel. They love him, they take pride in him, they want him to act his best and look his best, too.

She watches as John pulls Samuel into his lap, swiping the pair of socks next to him to slip onto the boy's feet and while he has that small face so close to his own, John presses a quick, smacking kiss to the boy's cheek.

He's too focused on capturing one wiggly foot in a sock that he misses the look Samuel gives him. But Anna doesn't miss it.

It's adoration for the man who dresses his son with all the devotion as though he were dressing a king.

She's struck by the beauty of this moment, of her husband's open and unguarded heart where their son is concerned, of the love their son is learning from him. John is a different man outside of his family. He can be cordial with others, but he's not easy to get to know - Lord knows it took Anna years in the beginning. But with Samuel? John has never closed himself off from him.

"There you are, my good man." John announces as he lifts Samuel from his lap.

Samuel's feet touch the ground again and the boy bounces impatiently around John as he rises to his feet and moves toward the doorway, cane thumping dully on the wood floor.

"Where's his cane?" Anna wonders. She hasn't seen it in a few days, now that she thinks of it. They move toward the dining room for breakfast, Samuel leading the way.

"Oh, I'm sure he's found something else to capture his attention." John muses, his hand on her lower back as he lets her pass through the doorway into the dining room first. "I think it was more of a game for him and how long could that really last?"

He has a point; a pint-sized cane and a mock limp cannot last long in the short-lived interests of a boy that age, but it had been a sweet game of mimicking his father while it lasted.

"Well, he might have grown out of that," Anna admits, but that look on Samuel's face moments ago won't be easy to forget. "But I doubt he's done idolizing you just yet."

She catches John's pleased smile.

No, she would bet almost anything that that had only just begun.

* * *

 **Thoughts?**

 **I still have a few more ideas in mind, but my schedule is so hectic right now, I know I can't churn them out as fast as I'd like. But I so appreciate everyone that has read these little chapters and shared their thoughts with me. I definitely want to add more when I can and I will try to share them with you as often as possible. Thanks again!**


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